Chapter 18: Chapter 18

◇ KEL ◇

He'd seen me buck naked?

Where? How?  I never sashayed around his house in just my underwear.  Never.  Nor could I recall an incident where I'd posed naked in front of the camera. Even semi-topless photo shoots were out of the question.

The most revealing catwalk outfit I'd worn only revealed a third of my bust. Even the big-name Italian brands...it didn't matter.  Miles didn't let me pose nude, either, and he said I didn't have to, and that my parents had enough reasons to dislike him.

"Still there?"  I shouted from inside the shower area. No noises from outside could be heard in the bathroom. It was like the light gray walls were soundproof.

"Yeah."

I froze under the showerhead. His muted voice sounded near. Standing by the sink?  "Forgot to lock the door again, stupid," I mumbled to myself.

"It was that one time I found you in the bathtub, close to drowning. Just out of it. Puked your guts out all night."

"What?"

"After Paul's party. You were drinking like a pro all night," Miles narrated from the other side of the bathroom. "I think RJ got it on video."

The certainty in his tone made me listen to every word despite the noisy showerhead. I paused soaping my legs, waiting for him to mention more details.

"Rinsed you off, then put you to bed. You were barely responding, so I made you drink a pitcher of water, probably." He chuckled. "Lightweight."

The endearing sound of his quiet laugh made me smile.

"You were yelling about school and shrinks all night, kept mumbling medical trivia.  India and RJ were just laughing their asses off."

"I...don't remember a thing," I said while a slight grin stayed on my lips. It must've been close to a year ago. I hadn't gone on a bender like that again, if memory served me right. That anxiety-depression loop never bothered me again. All thanks to Miles.

Miles would never be the rebound guy, but, I'd found a new best friend in him after that horrible phase in my adult life. "I'd be surprised if you remembered that night," he said with another throaty chuckle. "You done?"

"Why're you in here, anyway?"  I finished rinsing soap off of my sensitive skin. The shower didn't rid me of my nerves like it was supposed to; instead, it just made me fully aware of how tired I was.

Being a surgeon was more exhausting than manual labor. And I'd operated on two fatally wounded people in the same hour. Two!

Definitely not what I had in mind when I hauled myself out of bed this morning.

"Heard about Cloe," Miles replied. Just as I'd expected,  he was leaning against the sink when I stepped out of the shower in a robe. The door was open, and he was still half-naked, his attention abstractedly pinned on the carpeted floor. "Mamma said you stitched her up, and then the other guy."

"Enzo. You know him?" My steps halted when our gazes centered on each other. I stood next to him by the sink, my nervousness almost gone. My curiosity was the one bothering me now.

Why did he want to leave the estate right this minute?  Did something awful happen again?

"You did everything yourself." Miles squinted. A somewhat proud, somewhat amused grin stayed on his handsome face.

"I had to do something." I shrugged and looked away. "The guards helped a lot."

At my flat response, Miles snickered and placed his hands on my shoulders. "That explains all that blood, then."  Gently, he pulled me close to wrap his arms around my waist, rendering me speechless again.

The thick robe covered my nudity underneath, but I could almost feel every inch of his hard torso on my skin while I let him hug me tight.

Oh geez...  "That can't be right," was what my brain told my common sense. Why was I even fantasizing about him? Again?

We weren't in a relationship—at least not in the way I wanted.  To him, I was just a friend, maybe a best friend now. But nothing more. So, yep. I should just stop overthinking. Act normal.

"Worried something happened to you, too..." Miles murmured to my ear. His warm breath fanned my damp skin, giving me butterflies and sparking off hopeless romantic musings.

Definitely not helping my thoughts calm down. Ugh.  I pushed him away a little just to put some safe distance between us. Strangely, this spacious bathroom was starting to feel too warm and small. Or was he just standing too close to me?  "Where were you?"

"In the study. Ran out of there after yelling at my lying, conniving parents." Miles sighed and walked out of the bathroom.

"What?"

"Get dressed. I'll finish packing your things."

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"We can't leave."

I arched a skeptical brow and watched Miles approach the couch in his new attire. Just minutes ago he couldn't wait to haul my luggage out of the guest room and shove it in one of his dad's expensive SUVs. But now he's saying we couldn't leave?

"Shit." Miles sat next to me on the red loveseat in the rather private living room. Judging by his tone, his attempt to convince his parents to let us leave the estate tonight clearly bore no fruit. "They think the suspects could've fixed up another trap. Near here."

"Your dad told you that?" I glanced around Ricchar's spacious first-floor living room, just to make sure Miles and I were completely alone.

Natural lighting passed through the wide glass windows, making the big chandeliers shimmer. The classic, black and red-themed wooden furniture just made the place perfect for photo shoots.

Oh jeez. I hope I'd still have a regular job to come back to after all this, especially after a long leave of absence.

"They want us to leave after the investigators get here," Miles sighed with a frown. He leaned closer to me. "Better if we stayed till next weekend."

"Are you kidding?"

He reclined on the couch, ignored my poker-faced response, and zipped up his hoodie. "Head of security said we should stay a few more days till this shit blows over. Five guards and the drivers got killed this morning."

Holy mackerel. Five guards? Plus the drivers? Just shot dead? Enzo and his bodyguard didn't mention that many. Should we drive over to the crime scene to check again if there were other survivors?

"Better to be safe."

"But I can't stay here another week. My dad's dying."  As I tried to tone down my disappointment, Miles stared at me and caressed the back of my hand.

"I know.  Sorry." He tried a more sympathetic tone. "Just that...we gotta be careful here."

I sighed and opted not to complain again. Not like it would help me, anyway.  Crap.  I'd never missed my family this much. It was only an eight-hour flight away, more or less. Why wouldn't they just let me go back home?

"Much as I want to argue with them..." Miles sighed and held my hand. "Can't risk you getting hurt. Those sons of bitches like to set up traps."

Fine. It was risky to leave this soon. They just didn't know what waited for us out there. Alright. Maybe I'd give it another night. Or two.

A part of me wanted to talk to his parents about a few things, but the anxious part kept my confrontational thoughts at bay. I couldn't even imagine having to fess up in front of his intimidating parents, to tell them their son and I had been lying about our "relationship".

"Mom's waiting for me so the doctors can test my blood, among other things. See if I'm a compatible donor," I explained. Darn. I hadn't even had the time to book myself a flight yet.

"Donor? You bought plane tickets already?" Miles mumbled.

"Could you tell Paul to help me out? Reception's just crap out here."

"Yeah. I'll call him."

"I need to check on Cloe," I recalled after a minute of silence. According to Ricchar, it was sensible to assume the assailants were a bunch of hired thugs.  "And the guy."

"They cut up some shady business deals, I bet." Miles blankly stared at his fist and spoke quietly now. "Don't know any of 'em personally, but, everyone knows the Tomassinis have attracted some jealous attention the past years."

"That's what Berto said," I added with caution, almost whispering my words. What he said just confirmed my assumptions.

"Who?"

"Enzo's bodyguard."

"What else'd he tell you?" Miles frowned.

"His Kevlar protected him from the bullets." I stared at him. "And that...two of the attackers had brown and black snake tattoos on their neck, hands, and forearms."

"Fucking Russians," Miles muttered. He rubbed the side of his head while a crease between his brows deepened.

I got up from the soft couch when Miles couldn't do much but mutter more profanities.  Russians?  What?  Did he mean...

"Homicidal bastards."

"Wait."  Was he serious?   "Your family's got beef with the Russian mob?"

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